


We’ll Gather All Our Arms Can Carry

by zinke



Series: Before the Fall [1]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-07
Updated: 2009-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:38:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shrouded in shadows and secrecy, Laura had been able to enjoy Richard's company, his companionship, and his body without ever having to truly let him in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We’ll Gather All Our Arms Can Carry

**Author's Note:**

> The story's title comes from the song 'February' written and performed by the incomparable Dar Williams. Thanks a hundred times over to chaila43 for putting up with my constant questions about characterization – though I have to admit I'm pretty proud that I and this fic cause her to have actual Laura-thoughts! *g* And thanks as always to my partner in awesome nnaylime for her encouragement, and to caz963 for once again lending me her mad grammar skills.

The first – and only – time Richard had mentioned wanting to leave his wife for her, Laura had laughed. The sentiment had been so unexpected, and the circumstances so horribly clichéd – both of them lying sated and breathless, hopelessly tangled in the satiny sheets of a king-sized hotel bed – that she simply hadn't been able to help it. But her mirth had dissipated almost instantly when she'd turned to face him and found him gazing at her with an uncharacteristically earnest affection that made her heart pound uncomfortably in her chest.

So much more telling than 'I love you' – three words Laura had long ago come to believe were all too easily said by men of rather flexible principles – Richard's pronouncement had been exactly what, in theory, at least, every man's longtime mistress wanted to hear. Most women in her situation would have taken great delight in the fact that finally, finally her lover's feelings had eclipsed all rationality, reason and sense; that the only thing that truly mattered to him anymore was _her_.

But Laura Roslin was not most women.

By its very nature, her association with Richard had afforded her a certain measure of freedom that other, more conventional relationships could not. Shrouded in shadows and secrecy, she'd been able to enjoy Richard's company, his companionship, and his body without ever having to truly let him in.

And it had been enough. Laura had neither expected nor sought to have their relationship be anything more than it already was. She'd dated off and on, had lovers over the years – even lived with a man for a little while before the closeness of it had gotten to be too much. But companionship and intimacy are not the same thing; and the latter requires a degree of vulnerability she wasn't prepared to offer anyone, no matter how she may have felt about them.

She'd thought Richard had understood – had even agreed – with that. Which was why, when faced with his sudden, unsolicited declaration, she hadn't known how to respond. The possibility that he might want something more from her – _of_ her – than she'd already given was frightening enough. But it was the specter of what else she might have been expected to offer up to him should he have decided to follow through on his declaration that had truly terrified her.

And so ultimately Laura had said nothing. Instead, she'd met his gaze levelly before rising from the bed and disappearing into the bathroom to shower, taking care to close the door firmly behind her, so there'd been no room for misinterpretation.

To her relief, Richard had never attempted to revisit the subject. But the damage had already been done; and Laura had felt the effects of that afternoon's unfortunate encounter long after they'd checked out of their hotel room and returned to their familiar roles and routines. What they'd once been able to keep neatly locked behind closed doors now permeated every aspect of their public and private affairs.

When he'd stood before her only a few months later and coolly asked for her resignation, the bitter satisfaction she'd seen in his eyes had made it clear that his demand was about much more than saving political face.

She'd told herself at the time that it hadn't mattered; she'd have plenty of time to try and make him see reason once she returned to Caprica and Richard's wounded pride had had a chance to heal. But as she skims the automated response printout the Captain of the liner has just handed her, Laura realizes she'll never get that chance.

The message merely confirms what Laura has suspected since speaking to Jack on the wireless; virtually everything and everyone she has ever known is gone. And yet, in the wake of such an unimaginable tragedy, all Laura can seem to think about is the way Richard had looked on her that day as he lay beside her, hers for the taking – and how frightened she'd been of what she might lose if she'd decided to give in.

There's a rustle of fabric beside her, and Laura is suddenly, acutely aware of the impossible situation into which she's been thrust. From the forward cabin she can hear the low, anxious hum of the voices of her fellow passengers as they wait together for news of their homes and loved ones. There's a small, desperate part of her that wishes she could simply rise from her seat, ignoring the expectant gazes of Captains Perel and Apollo, and join them.

But there's a larger part of her that recognizes the truth of the situation; that while she may have lost just as much in these attacks as the others on this ship, she isn't at liberty to surrender to the anger, fear and grief that are threatening to consume her. She has a responsibility now, to see these people – the President's people – through to whatever end awaits them out here amongst the ashes and the stars. She'll give what she can of herself because she has no other choice; and gods willing, once she's through there'll be time and solitude enough for her to mourn for all the secret things she's lost.

Though bleak, the thought does offer Laura a small measure of consolation; and after pulling the blanket from her shoulders, she turns to Captain Perel to instruct in the steadiest, surest voice she can muster, "We'll need a priest."

 

*fin.*


End file.
